


Relentless

by jujubiest



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Vampire Hunters, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When 17-year-old Bella Swan is found dead in the woods, everyone believes she was mauled by a wild animal. Everyone except her father, Charlie Swan. He's convinced Bella was murdered, and he won't rest until he finds her killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Local Teen Found Dead in Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This is a plotbunny I indulged a very long time ago, that I still do want to finish one of these days.

The small town of Forks is in shock after police discovered the body of 17-year-old Isabella Swan, the daughter of the local chief of police. The body was found about six miles into the woods just off the main highway that leads from the Swan home to Forks High School, where Bella had just enrolled in classes.

The coroner estimated the time of death to be around 6 p.m. on Monday. Cause of death has yet to be determined for sure, but officers on the scene said it was probably an animal attack.

Deputy Chief Arnold Saunders said the girl had just moved to Forks from Phoenix, Ar., and was on the way home from her first day at Forks High when she disappeared.

"We found the truck Chief Swan got for her parked in a ditch on the side of the road. The back left tire was blown out and the keys weren't in the ignition."

Saunders went on to say he thought it likely that Swan had pulled over when the tire blew, gotten out of the vehicle, and gone in search of help.

"She wasn't from around here, she wasn't familiar with the terrain or the paths through the woods. Poor kid probably got lost, and then ran across a bear or a wolf."

Funeral announcements for Miss Swan have been postponed pending an investigation into the definite cause of her death. Police Chief Charlie Swan could not be reached for comment.


	2. Off the Beaten Path

When I reached the truck, it was almost the last vehicle in the lot. It was like a haven, already the closest thing to a home I had on this green, alien planet. I sat inside, just staring out the windshield blankly, waiting for the rest of the cars to clear out. When they finally did, my teeth were chattering, and I wanted my truck's heater. I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I grimaced, glad I had waited until I was alone in the parking lot. I tried not to think about the day I'd just had as I drove out of the parking lot, down a short street, and onto the ramp leading to the highway. I was looking forward to losing my troubles in shopping for some food for the fridge. Living with a confirmed bachelor basically meant living off toast and TV dinners, and I didn't feel my life was quite pathetic enough for that yet. I had only been driving for a few minutes when I saw him.

Edward Cullen, standing on the side of the road in the rain. Anyone else would have looked morose, even miserable, standing in a drizzly rain with their hair plastered to their forehead and their thumb stuck out. But he looked…well,  _amazing._ Like he was posing for an ad in a magazine. Without really thinking about it, I found myself taking my foot off the pedal, slowing down as I drew nearer to him. His chin was down, tucked into the collar of his designer jacket, but his black eyes peeked out at me from under his soaked hair, and a rueful smile lit his face. My heart did something strange in my chest even as my stomach clenched.

Out here beside the woods he looked—wild, somehow. But he seemed to have found my eyes through the rain and the windshield, and his eyes looked a little desperate for just a second. Again, without really thinking of it, my foot was stamping the break, and my poor truck came to a halt on the side of the road just a few feet from where he was standing. His grin broke into a laugh. He jogged toward me, and I leaned over to pop the lock up on the other door. I shoved it open for him, and he stuck his head inside, but he didn't get in. I saw his nostrils flare and I thought for a moment the look he'd had during biology was back, but it must have been my imagination, because his voice was friendly when he spoke.

"Hi, Bella. I'm glad you came along. I seem to have annoyed my sister Rosalie once too often. She told me I could walk home. Mind if I hang out with you for awhile?" His crooked grin was playing havoc with my thoughts—what was  _wrong_ with me?—but I still found his words a little strange.

"Your sister threw you out of the car? That wasn't very nice." I frowned at the thought of the beautiful blonde Jessica had pointed out as Rosalie earlier in the lunchroom. "What did you do to annoy her?"

"Well…this is kind of embarrassing." He didn't look embarrassed. He looked like a cat that had caught a canary, or like a prankster who had set up the perfect joke and was about to see it come to fruition. And something else…but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"See, Rosalie doesn't like for other people to get more attention that she does. Even if she's not interested. She's selfish that way. And she felt like maybe I was giving the new girl a bit too much of my attention." His voice was playful as he said it, but there was an intensity underneath it that made me blush furiously, and I thought his eyes almost looked hungry as he watched. Woah.

 _Woah._ No way.

Was he saying what I thought he was saying? How was this even possible? I was Bella, the klutz, Bella, the bookworm. Bella, the average child of two people so average that even their marriage was a statistic. Isabella Swan, pale and thin, not particularly interesting or pretty. How was it possible that I had managed to catch  _this_ boy's attention on my first day of school? Or at all? Not just one of the isolated, beautiful Cullen family, but the most breathtaking member of it. My head was spinning as I looked into his face, but the more practical part of my mind was still trying to discern whether this was some kind of cruel joke. It wasn't like I hadn't had it happen to me before. Middle school boys think it's hilarious to feign interest just to see your face fall when they deliver the punch line. But Edward Cullen was staring back at me, eyes sincere, smile fading a little as I went longer and longer without saying anything back. Finally, he broke the awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he  _did_ look really disappointed. "I didn't mean to come on so strong. I've probably scared you off for good now."

Something in his voice made me think he was hoping that wasn't the case. Made me think he was telling the truth: he was really interested in me. In me! I had never really encountered this kind of thing before, but suddenly I completely understood where the phrase "butterflies in the stomach" came from. And the term "light-headed." My entire body felt like it might float away, and I looked up at Edward Cullen from behind a curtain of my hair and smiled a little, hopeful smile.

"Are you playing a joke on me?" I asked, trying to keep myself firmly anchored in reality. In reality, guys like Edward Cullen just didn't fall for girls like Bella Swan. In reality, guys like Edward Cullen only existed as glossy pictures in magazines, staring aloofly out at nothing and advertising distress-washed jeans. I wasn't going to put myself out there just to be laughed at. To my delight and immense surprise, he shook his head, and his eyes were so earnest as they bored into mine that I couldn't look away. Didn't want to.

"No joke. I don't know why, but you interest me. Maybe because you're not as easy to read as the other girls I've met. I always seem to know what they're thinking. You…mystify me."

I couldn't help it. I grinned like an idiot. But he was grinning back, beautiful white teeth framed by perfect lips, and in the back of my mind, some vague, unidentifiable warning bell sounded. I ignored it.

"So, Miss Bella Swan," he said. A different kind of ringing started when he said my name. "Will you accompany me on a stroll through the woods? Having declared myself so abruptly, I'd rather like to talk to you and get to know you a little. And I know a beautiful spot where we can rest before we come back."

"Um." I bit my lip. "I don't know. My dad will be expecting me home by five. And isn't it kind of…well, wet?"

"Not to worry," he said, and it struck me how formal his words always sounded, "I have my cell phone, and we both have jackets, and the trees are so dense along here that they keep out most of the rain anyway…as long as nothing shakes the leaves. Then you really get soaked." I couldn't help grinning. I didn't really even think about it. I got out of the truck, making sure to take the keys and lock both doors, and walked around the front to stand, a little awkwardly, beside him. He offered me his arm, and I took it, still blushing terribly.

We headed into the woods. His feet quickly found a path, although one of the fainter ones I'd seen, and before long most of the gloomy afternoon light was gone. It was very dark and green, and cold, and I couldn't tell whether the lack of light was from the trees or the early onset of twilight. Staying close to Edward didn't seem to keep me warm. If anything, I felt even colder, but at least safer. His eyes seemed able to see where mine failed. Twice, he kept me from tripping over a root protruding from the cold ground. We could only have been walking for a few minutes, mostly in silence, before he stopped so fast that I stumbled to keep from running right into him.

I looked around. It was very dark, and I realized I couldn't even see the road through the trees anymore. It made me nervous, and suddenly I realized several other scary things.

No one knew where I was.

I didn't even know this boy.

There probably wasn't anyone for miles who could see or hear me other than him.

The vague warning bells suddenly became very loud, making themselves heard at last, and too late, over the butterflies and my stupid floating head. I told myself I was being paranoid, but then I risked a look at Edward.

His face seemed completely different in the half-light, sharper and darker. The impression of wildness was more pronounced now. His eyes were black hollows, and his perfect lips seemed suddenly thin and predatory. His lips parted over his bared teeth, and I felt my stomach clench. I imagined the sudden death of a dozen butterflies. The predator-Edward spoke to me, his voice hissing through his bared teeth.

"I'm sorry, Bella Swan. I wrestled with myself all day, but I just can't resist it. You smell too appetizing. I'm sorry I couldn't make it even quicker…I wanted it to be so fast you'd never even know it was coming, so you wouldn't feel afraid. But I can see you  _are_ afraid, so all I can do is promise that it will be quick, and that you will feel very little pain."

With every word, my body had gone further and further into full-on panic mode. The words themselves didn't all register, but the word  _pain_ definitely made it through. My heart was racing, and a cold sweat was making me shiver. My eyes were so wide they hurt, but I couldn't seem to relax the muscles in my face. I thought of Charlie, coming home to an empty house, and looking for me, and finding my truck on the side of the road. I thought of Renee, checking her e-mail every half hour, waiting to hear about my first day at my new school. I thought, bizarrely, of Mike and Jessica, and what they would think if I didn't show up at school tomorrow. I set my jaw, and tried to make my footing even, and prepared to fight. I knew running would be useless; I'd fall on my face before I could even go five steps.

In seconds he was on me, slamming me into a tree so fast I couldn't even see him move, and my mouth opened in a scream. But no scream came out. The impact had knocked the wind out of me, and his hand had slammed over my mouth. The stab of pain told me my jaw had broken. I struggled against his grip, but I couldn't do anything, and through my shock other pains registered. Ribs were cracked. As I twisted my head in an attempt to free my mouth, it felt like my collarbone was splintering. I coughed against his hand, and tasted blood.

Then, just as abruptly as the pain had started, it was gone. I was getting cold, and everything was going numb. I could hear a sick, sucking sound from somewhere below my neck, and there was a faint burning sensation in my shoulder. I thought of Renee and Charlie…


	3. The Dead Girl

Charlie Swan looked down at his child, and felt like everything in him was shriveling. His beautiful little girl lay on a metal slab, gray-faced and broken. A sheet mercifully covered the worst of her injuries, but Charlie knew what he would see if he pulled it back. Despite the coroner's misgivings, Charlie had made him give a full account.

Every bone in her torso was shattered, her organs punctured and slashed by the bone fragments. Her jaw was smashed, several teeth knocked out. Her stomach and throat had been torn open, and there were hideous claw marks down her arms. The bruises on her face were horrible, deep purple from chin to halfway up her cheeks, and her nose was practically flattened. Her eyes were closed now. But when they'd found her, he knew they'd been open.

He'd seen it in the crime scene photos: her eyes, wide and terrified, tear tracks fanning out from them as if she'd continued to cry after whatever had killed her had left her dead on her back in the leaves.

At least there wasn't any blood.

Actually, that had bothered Charlie from the beginning. The coroner had noted a strange lack of blood, but given her injuries he thought she must have simply bled out. Charlie had other ideas; the site where her body had been found had been almost completely clean of blood, save a few smears on the leaves around her body. Was she killed somewhere else and dragged to where they'd found her? Was that something an animal would do? He didn't know. He couldn't think.

When he thought, he thought about what her last moments must have been like. To direct his mind away from that horrifying reality, he would automatically go into cop mode, and start looking at the aspects of the crime scene that didn't quite seem to add up. But that was the breaking point for Charlie: viewing his daughter with cold detachment, as a victim rather than his Bella, nearly sent him over the edge the first time he'd caught himself doing it. He couldn't bear to do that. So he tried his damndest not to think.

Bella's mother was flying in the next day. Charlie wanted to have Bella cleaned up and ready for a funeral before that happened. As bad as seeing her face blanked out by a mortician's makeup would be for Renee, Charlie really didn't think his flighty, innocent ex-wife could deal with the alternative—with this. The girl on the slab was not his daughter, she didn't look up at you from behind her hair, shy but smart, quiet but subtly independent. She wouldn't make jokes about his inability to cook, or be sarcastic when annoyed, or righteously indignant when she felt she was being sold short. All the sparks of Bella were gone; this was just a dead, mangled body.

But Renee wouldn't see that. She would see her baby torn apart by an animal, and she would want to fix it, and wouldn't be able to. And then she would lash out. She might blame him, and he was prepared for this. He blamed himself even though he didn't see how he could have stopped this from happening. This was  _Forks._ Nothing happened here! That was why Renee had left, that was why Bella had hated it so much. He was still mystified by her decision to come live with him, and he now wished he'd told her no.

Maybe if she hadn't hated Forks so much she would have visited more often, or come to live with him sooner. She would have known not to go wandering alone in the woods, or else would have known how to wander safely. But he didn't allow his mind to follow that track too long, because it led to places that felt wrong and un-fatherly, and he hated himself for feeling some things if he allowed himself to think it through.

At the very bottom of Charlie's emotions, where he refused to look, he was angry at his daughter for dying.


	4. The Hollow Man

Isabella Swan was buried by her father and mother in Forks Cemetery. Charlie had offered to have the body shipped to Phoenix, but the thought of her daughter in a coffin in the cargo area of an airplane made Renee more than slightly hysterical. The former Mrs. Swan stood silently by her ex-husband, staring down at the coffin and hating everything within her sight. Forks had been a green, wet blanket that had threatened to smother her, and it had pulled her child under, snuffed her out and snapped her into like a matchstick. Renee went straight from the funeral to catch a flight back to Phoenix; she didn't think she could stand Forks for another second, and she just couldn't bear to watch them lower the casket into the ground.

Charlie was left alone with his thoughts, and this was not a good thing. He took a few days off work, got rip-roaring drunk just once, slept it off in a cell at his own office—too many pictures of Bella in the house that he couldn't bear to look at or remove—and then he was back at work the Monday after his daughter was buried, albeit slightly paler than usual, and with a look to his eyes that was disconcerting. He was a good cop and a good man. He did his job during the day, did right by the town that had elected him, and then drank himself to sleep at night with a clean conscience. His friends grew worried, but they didn't know what to do. Billy Black couldn't get him on the phone, and Harry Clearwater could never convince him to go fishing anymore. At night, he dreamed of his Isabella screaming, stumbling alone, frightened, and bleeding through the forest, pursued by some unseen terror with scarlet eyes and sharp, gleaming teeth.

The forest. The crime scene. He couldn't get it out of his head, as much as he wanted to. The more he thought about it—and he honestly did try not to—the more he was sure something just wasn't right. His mind came back again and again to the tell-tale lack of blood, or even a blood trail.  _How would an animal move a body from the scene of the crime without leaving blood drops, broken twigs, packed underbrush…some sign of passage?_ He ran these thoughts over and over, coming up empty until he couldn't stand it anymore. He began drinking earlier in the evening, hoping that by the time his mind finished with the endless remorse he would be too sleepy or too drunk to move on to the horrible, endless analysis.

It had been only a little over a month when Charlie came home one night to find his door unlocked, and that oppressive kind of silence that only comes from the presence of waiting minds. He paused only a moment in the little hallway, long enough to draw his gun from its holster. Then, he moved stealthily toward the entrance to the kitchen, where he was sure he could hear the quiet rush of someone breathing, his gun held at the ready and his back against the wall for cover and support. Reaching the wooden door frame, he paused and willed his heart to beat slower; he was far from a rookie but he had never fired at anything but animals and targets before now.

A glance to the left let him know the living room was clear, so he took a deep breath, steeled his fraying nerves, and stepped around the corner, gun held at the ready.

"Charlie," said the deep, regal voice of Billy Black. "We need to talk."


	5. The Wolf Boy

"Goddammit, Billy, I could've shot you!" Charlie grumbled as he holstered his weapon, but Billy only chuckled.

"You shouldn't be so trigger-happy." Charlie only grunted and made to maneuver around his friend to reach the refrigerator…no small feat in the already-cramped room. Billy stops him with a hand grasping his upper arm in a firm, reprimanding way. Charlie looked down at his wheelchair-bound friend, a spark of defiance in his eyes for just a moment. But then the light faded and his eyes were just empty, flat brown without any shine to them at all, and he relented and instead flopped almost sulkily down in a chair on the opposite side of the table. Billy suppressed a shudder; Charlie looked hollowed out, dead inside.

"Charlie—" Billy began, then stopped, unsure how to say what he needed to say. He was at war with himself, to be quite honest. On the one hand, Charlie was his best friend since from before he could even remember, and he thought his friend deserved to know what had really happened to his daughter. On the other, though, Charlie was just human, mortal, fragile…not privy to the world full of monsters that surrounded him. With a deep sigh, Billy knew he had to keep the secret, and he hated himself for it.

Charlie," he began again, "you have to stop this. It's killing you, and we can all see that. You don't call anyone, you don't pick up the phone when we call. Harry misses you. We all do. We understand grief, but this is unnatural." Charlie's head snapped up then, and a fierce light entered his eyes that Billy liked even less than the deadened, hollow look.

"Unnatural, Billy?" His voice was practically a hiss. "You know what's unnatural? Finding your little girl's body mauled beyond recognition in the woods, that's unnatural! Going to your child's funeral…that's unnatural! And…it happening here…" he started to choke up, and Billy was alarmed to see tears begin coursing down his friend's face. " _Here,_ Billy! In  _Forks!_ You know why Renee left me, why Bella would always make me come visit her somewhere else during the summer?"

"Because," Charlie continued without waiting for a response, and his voice was cracking now, "it's boring. It's a dead-end town full of dead-end people living quiet little lives. Because it's small, and quiet, and  _safe._ " Here, he actually began to laugh, and Billy was shaken to the core by the sound. "It…was…supposed…to be…safe." Charlie was laughing so hard he could barely get out the words, and then suddenly, he was stoic again. The change was staggering. He looked at Billy with dead eyes again, and his voice was just as dead when he spoke.

" _Nothing ever happens in Forks._ " Charlie's head collapsed on his hands, and he didn't move. Billy was silent, just staring at the wreck across the table that was his friend, his solid and stable lifelong friend that was never shaken by anything…not the grief of his wife's sudden departure, not the sting of his daughter's rejection and distance, not even the constant nagging loneliness he endured in silence. To see him reduced this way was unbearable, and Billy hated himself more fiercely for his inability to simply tell the man the truth. Even as horrible as it was, surely the cold horror of a premeditated murder was less maddening than that of a random, freak run-in with a wild animal? The old man shook himself. He had to keep the secret.

"Listen to me, Charlie. What happened to Isabella was terrible. No one is denying that, and we all hurt for you. But you cannot just continue to wallow in it this way. There was nothing you could have done and there is nothing you can do now."

Charlie was animated again in an instant.

"Don't tell me that, Billy. Whatever you tell me, don't say  _that._ I can still find the monster that did this to my baby girl." He was on his feet, talking more to himself now than to Billy. "I can go back to the crime scene and go over—"

"Crime scene?" Billy cut in sharply. "Charlie, what do you mean crime scene?" The older man wheeled forward toward his friend, hating himself for the lie, steeling himself to make it convincing. "Bella wasn't murdered, Charlie. There is no crime scene. Bella's death was an accident."

Charlie stood on the side of the road, hunched against the cold, damp air and peering into the sinister shadows of the forest. He never used to think of them as sinister. They had been comforting, like a security blanket always keeping the light from shining too brightly in his eyes. These days, it seemed any light shone too brightly, but the darkness was even worse. In the absence of light, he could only see his daughter's mangled face, eyes wide with terror and tear tracks fanning down across her temples…

He shuddered and twitched his head impatiently, as if the image were an insect he was trying to startle into taking flight. Then he turned, reached into the cab of his truck, and came out holding a long, gleaming hunting rifle. Charlie wasn't much for hunting, but he kept the equipment around in case of encroaching wildlife, and today he was glad he had it on him as he sat off, shoulders still hunched forward against the cold and the shadows, into the forest.

It was so much darker under the thick canopy of leaves that he had to pull out his flashlight, even though it was a good two hours until sunset. He skimmed along the ground with the light and examined the trees along the path that, despite the intervening weeks, was still faintly visible through the underbrush. The ground had been heavily trampled as the scene of the  _crime_ (he refused to call this an accident) had been examined and then cleared away, and the forest hadn't totally reclaimed the area for its own yet. Still, Charlie thought a hundred years or more would have to pass before he could walk by this particular spot without knowing where he was; he knew as soon as he reached it. The air was colder, the light was dimmer, and suddenly there was a hitch in his throat and a tight, scared feeling in his shoulders. He  _knew_  without even looking around him with the light that this was where his baby had died. And then, as he examined the scene more closely, he realized it wasn't the place her body had been found. His light stopped dead on a fallen tree trunk that looked as if it had been pulverized by lightning. Moss was already starting to assimilate it back into the forest, but as he approached and looked closely he could see the smears of something brown and crusted into the bark. He could swear he felt his heart stop as the realization hit him hard: this was where his daughter had died, but it was  _not_ where her body had been found. That was much further in, along the same trail of broken underbrush. Likely, evidence had been destroyed as the local law enforcement ignored this area in favor of the more obvious crime scene.

And it  _was_ a crime scene, no matter what Billy said. This trip had just confirmed that for him. An animal might incapacitate or even kill its pray in order to drag it off to a safe place for feeding, but no animal Charlie had ever heard of could do that without leaving a blood trail. He was convinced now: Bella had been murdered, and by someone capable of cleaning up a hell of a lot of blood evidence.

That one little fact suddenly brought him up short, and he stared, wide-eyed and almost hysterical, at the fallen tree. A few smudges of blood in the bark. That was it. He ran his flashlight all around, on the ground and the surrounding trees, over every surface in a circle around the fallen trunk. Bella's body had been almost completely drained of blood, leading the coroner to believe she must have bled out from her injuries. Charlie was in full-on cop mode now, but with a fevered edge that brought insights to him much more quickly than his normal slow, steady thought processes would have.

Bella had been attacked here. Bella had been bleeding, probably profusely, right here. She had either died here and then been moved to the other spot, or she had died in that spot…but either way, there should be more blood.  _Where the hell is all the goddamn blood?_ It didn't make any sense, and he tried not to think too hard about the other questions that didn't have sensible answers, coming at him fast now that he'd allowed himself to numb up and really think about it.

_How could no one hear her screaming? She wasn't that far from the road, and I know she had a good set of lungs on her._

_What caused her to come out here in the first place? Bella would never wander off into the woods, she was clumsy but she wasn't stupid._

_How big would an assailant have to be to knock a tree in half with his own body?_

Just then, Charlie heard something moving in the underbrush…the soft pad of an animal's paws whispering through the leaves and moss. He whirled toward the sound, gun at the ready, and trained his flashlight on something enormous…something well big enough and powerful enough to knock down a tree…something the size of a horse, but shaped more like a wolf. His eyes wide with terror and surprise, Charlie Swan found himself believing for the first time that his daughter might have died from an animal's attack.

Until the wolf lowered its head and whined—even as dark as it was, Charlie could see a russet sheen to the fur where the flashlight hit it—and backed slowly away until it disappeared into the shadows made by the trees once again. Waiting where he is, perfectly still and almost afraid to breathe, Charlie got an unpleasant start for the second time that day when he heard more rustling, and Billy's teenage son, Jacob Black, came traipsing out of the darkness at him, wearing nothing but a pair of cutoff shorts and looking older, bigger— _much_ bigger—and somehow, much bitterer than Charlie remembered when he had last seen him. Staring up at the boy…man…who had to be close to seven feet tall and made almost entirely of muscle, the thought ran across Charlie's mind, horrifying but unstoppable, that with enough force, Jacob Black could probably have toppled that tree right over. But no…surely…not Billy's  _son?_

He looked up at the sharp planes of the once round, boyish face, the hard line of a mouth pressed thin with bitterness, and stopped himself before he could focus too carefully on the shadowed, glinting eyes. With a chill, Charlie thought,  _Yes…Billy's son._


	6. The Impossible

He was lost. Utterly lost.

He had been running through the trees forever, looking for something…but he couldn't remember what. But he had to find it soon, before…

And then suddenly, he was running  _from_ something. Something huge. It loomed up out of the darkness and sent his heart into overdrive, terror like he'd never known shooting adrenaline through his veins so strongly that he felt dizzy. He opened his mouth and let out a yell…but it was a high-pitched scream, something he didn't even think his voice was capable of. As he stumbled over a protruding root and fell face down into the underbrush, he thought his hands looked strangely small, thin-fingered and delicate. And he felt long, dark hair swing forward to conceal his face.

He wasn't Charlie. He was Bella…no. He was watching Bella. From somewhere up high, maybe he was in a tree, he was watching his daughter run for her life from some gargantuan monster through the woods outside of Forks. She scrambled to her feet, limping a little as she tried to get away. She stumbled again…the thing was going to be on top of her any second now. She turned to see death coming for her, and although Charlie desperately wanted to look away, he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't close his eyes. He saw his daughter fall backwards onto the leaves, growing paler and paler by the second, eyes widening in horror, tears fanning out over her temples as an unseen attacker drained her life away. She didn't struggle, she just lay there. It all seemed to be happening in fast-forward. It was over quickly, and Charlie stared up at the canopy of leaves overhead, unable to move or close his eyes again, feeling the wet streaks of tears still leaking down out of the sides of his eyes and the cold seeping in bone-deep…

* * *

Charlie Swan sat up in bed, gasping and shaking, the feeling of watching death, of  _being_ dead, still fresh in his mind. He hunched forward, clutching at his thinning hair in desperation, trying to let the pain distract him from the image of his daughter lying face-down in the leaves, staring up at him. It didn't help. Nothing really helped; all he could do after a night like this was let the panic take him and run its course. He tried to breathe through his nose, hastening it on its way.

When he was calm again…he had no idea how long that took…he turned to look at clock on his nightstand.

4:36.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath. There was no point in going back to sleep, even if he didn't fear more horrible dreams. With a tired sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and turned, pausing for a moment, wincing against aches and pains in his back at the motion before he stood and headed out his bedroom door to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. He pointedly didn't glance at the closed door he passed on the way. He hadn't looked at it in months.

Looking in the mirror, he wished he could say the same about his reflection. As little as he cared about such things, Charlie knew he looked bad. His face was getting thinner by the week as he forgot to eat more and more often. His jaw was scruffy and unshaven, and his eyes were sunken and circled from the perpetual lack of rest.  _I look like a goddamn member of the undead,_ he thought listlessly before stepping into the shower and resigning himself to another day at work. The hot water beat down on him, easing some of the external aches and pains. He closed his eyes and tried to wipe the dream from his mind. It was like she was torturing him, for not protecting her.

 _Or for letting her killer walk around free,_ he thought bitterly. But he had no proof, none at all. Just his suspicions, just that chilling glint in Jacob Black's eyes from that day in the woods, just his utter certainty that it hadn't been just an accident, a trick of fate. The cop warred with the grieving father, and won: he couldn't accuse Billy's son of anything until he had proof. And the case was closed, so he had no way of getting any proof unless Jacob actually confessed.

His eyes snapped open.

* * *

"Charlie…this is a surprise," said Billy warily from the doorway. He watched, face impassive, as Charlie got out of his cruiser and came toward his old friend, head down and a smile on his face that Billy was certain was forced. Charlie had never been known for his ability to hide his emotions. It worried Billy immensely that he was even trying.

"Hey, Billy," he said quietly. "Wanted to see about watching the game." He didn't meet the older man's eyes as he spoke. Billy considered him for a fraction of a moment, and decided not to press. He wheeled himself back from the doorway, allowing Charlie to step inside and look around. It didn't escape him when the man's eyes swept the room and lingered for a moment on his son's closed bedroom door.

As they settled into the living room to watch—pretend to watch—a football game, Charlie glanced sideways at Billy. His friends eyes were intent on the screen.

"So," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "How're the kids doing?" Billy grunted, not taking his eyes from the television.

"Rachel and Rebecca I haven't heard from in awhile. Jacob's fine. He's out with some friends."

Charlie didn't respond to this, simply lapsed back into silence and stared at the screen, not really seeing anything going on in front of him. Out with some friends.  _That's alright, Jacob,_ he thought to himself.  _You'll be back sooner or later, and when you are, we're going to have a talk._

* * *

Jacob Black didn't sleep so well anymore.

He supposed it was normal, really, or as normal as anything in his life ever got anymore. After what he'd seen, after finding out what he  _was…_ yeah, he was pretty sure most people would have a little trouble sleeping after all that.

He slowed to a jog as he neared the edge of the trees. As frustrating as it was to pretend, to run at a normal human pace, keeping the secret came before convenience. Keeping the secret came before almost everything anymore. Jacob felt like he was beginning to lose himself in this life he had never chosen, but he didn't know what he could do to stop that from happening.

As his house came into view, he slowed to a stop and frowned deeply. Charlie Swan's police cruiser was parked out front. The last thing he wanted after a night like he'd had was to see the police chief. He was a constant reminder to the whole pack of their failure. He didn't need to carry images of Charlie Swan's grief back to the rest of them; they felt it enough from Paul.

The authorities had no idea that Paul had been the first one to find her. Jacob flinched at the shared memory. The bruises, the terrified, lifeless eyes, the crazy-impossible angle one of her arms was bent at…it was gruesome. And over the entire scene, a haze of burning, sickly-sweet, icy scent that told Paul what he couldn't tell the police: that Bella Swan had absolutely not died of an animal attack.

None of the pack had ever come across something like this before, and they weren't prepared for Paul's reaction. His utter horror had gone howling through their minds, painful and full of what he was seeing and smelling, before he'd just  _disappeared_ from their heads all together. The terror of  _that_ mixed with the previous onslaught, and nearly incapacitated the entire pack. Sam and Jared had gone racing off to find Paul curled up against a tree a few yards from the girl's body, naked and shaking and fighting the urge to vomit. Sam hadn't known what to do. He'd had no warning, no way of knowing that the sight of human death, even such a brutal one, would affect any of them this way. Least of all Paul.

Of course, Jacob had been spared seeing all of this firsthand. He'd gotten flashes of it in the minds of the others, though. It wasn't something you could really avoid thinking about.

He sighed, and decided he would spend some time in his makeshift garage until Chief Swan left. He could barely look at the man, knowing what his daughter must have suffered, and that he would never know the truth or see the monsters responsible brought to justice. Inside the garage, he flopped down on an overturned bucket, gazing blankly at the cluttered little space. He remembered spending hours in here, listening to music and working on his car. He remembered loving it, and wanting to get out of high school already so he could do this all the time. It wasn't a glamorous life or a stellar career, but it was what he loved and it made him happy.

He had never really had a choice about where his life would go, though. And he hadn't even known it.

"Did you do it, Jacob?"

Jacob jerked his head toward the unexpected voice and cursed silently. Charlie Swan hadn't been content to be avoided, it seemed. He was standing in the narrow doorway, silhouetted against the dim, grey light from outside, a hand against the frame as if he needed the support. Judging by the hollowed cheeks and the slightly bloodshot eyes, maybe he did.

"Chief Swan," Jacob said as amiably as he could. "Been keeping out of the woods?"

An indecipherable spasm crossed the man's face at the reminder, but he only nodded. He took a step inside, and Jacob stood up. His brow furrowed as he looked curiously at the other man.

"Can I help you with something, Chief Swan?"

"Just tell me Jacob: did you do it?" the man asked again. Jacob just looked at him in confusion for a moment before realization dawned.

"You're seriously asking me this?" He was abruptly furious; his voice was almost a growl. Chief Swan didn't seem to notice.

"Would I kid about something like this? Jacob, just tell me why? I've known you all your life, and you've always been a good kid. Those older boys you've been spending time with…was it some kind of gang initiation? Is that it?"

Jacob clenched his fists, trying to control the tremors he could feel pulsing down his spine. A whisper of heat, a taste like wood burning.  _He's grieving, and he doesn't know what he's saying. Calm down, he's just hurting. Calm down._ But Charlie didn't want him calm.

"How'd you convince her to go with you? Bella was a smart girl. She would never have gone off into the woods of her own free will, with a stranger." He advanced towards Jacob as he talked, his voice growing louder and more agitated with every word. "Did you force her to go with you, Jacob? What happened? Huh? Tell me, dammit! I deserve to know!"

Jacob was going to phase, he could feel it. He could try to stop it, he could hold it in as hard as he was able, but it would explode out of him and tear the man standing in front of him apart. And then he would be just as bad as the monster who'd taken Charlie's daughter.  _No,_ he thought.

He shoved Charlie, as hard as he could, throwing the man backwards through the garage door, sending him farther than a normal, human teenage boy should have been able to send a grown man. Charlie landed about a foot from his car, shocked and dazed, the wind knocked out of him. As he tried to catch his breath, he heard a shout and looked up.

Just in time to see Jacob Black shiver from head to toe, shaking so hard he was almost blurring right out of Charlie's sight…and then…

He couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't wrap his mind around it. His eyes told him that Jacob Black had just… _burst._ Into a monstrous creature, tall as a horse, but shaped more like a wolf…but that was impossible.

 _Impossible, impossible, impossible…_ he thought it over and over to himself as he watched the thing run for the edge of the woods, moving faster than any normal wolf, scraps of cloth that suspiciously resembled Jacob's clothing being thrown off in its wake.

_Impossible…_


End file.
